


One Hell Of A Party

by guti



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Exhibitionism, M/M, Masturbation, Past Relationship(s), Sex Tapes, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-24
Updated: 2015-07-24
Packaged: 2018-04-11 00:25:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4413785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guti/pseuds/guti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Super Bowl party of 2010 is something of an urban legend in the Real Madrid locker room.  James is about to find out why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Hell Of A Party

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fenerkulesi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fenerkulesi/gifts), [pimpam](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pimpam/gifts).



The Super Bowl party of 2010 is something of an urban legend in the Real Madrid locker room. It’s one of those whispered about events that the guys who were present for immediately cackle over together before quickly clamming up the second one of the newer or younger players expresses interest. ‘You just had to be there,’ is the default answer. ‘It's really not that funny if you don’t have the context,’ they say. James gave up on asking ages ago. He figures that, in time, this incarnation of the squad will have their own in-jokes to laugh about. Then they’ll be even.

Besides, he’s too busy flirting with and being wooed by Cristiano to pay much attention to the old rumors anymore. They’re not exactly dating, per se, but the tension between them has been growing for months now, and when Cristiano invites him over for dinner and a movie after training, he eagerly accepts.

“I’ll do the cooking,” Cristiano says with a cheeky grin. James practically melts, imagination running wild.

“Should I bring anything?” He asks.

Cristiano shakes his head, “You just bring your sweet self and we’ll have a wonderful evening together.”

The Colombian’s heart swells and he’s giddy with anticipation when he arrives at Cristiano’s doorstep. The older man greets him, dressed in a smart looking dress shirt and slacks. James feels a little underdressed in his teeshirt and jeans, but Cristiano doesn’t seem to notice or care. Instead he warmly welcomes the younger man into his home and leads him to the living room.

“I was about to start dinner,” he says, sitting down on the sofa beside James. “I'm not much of a cook, so it will be something simple. My mother gave me this really excellent pasta recipe I thought we might try.”

“Pasta is great,” James agrees.

“Terrific,” Cristiano says, pushing himself up off the couch again. As he does, his cell phone begins to ring in his pocket. Frowning, he fishes it out and stares at it. “Excuse me a moment, James. It’s my business partner. I’ll need to take this.”

James blinks. “Of course.”

“Go ahead and pick out a movie, if you like. I won’t be more than a few moments.” Cristiano says warmly, then answers the call. “It’s a little late to be calling, isn’t it? Oh, I see. Yes, I can talk now...” His voice fades down the hall as he heads out toward the backyard for some privacy.

James watches him walk away, admiring the view only a little before rising and walking to the shelf of DVDs. Cristiano seems to own every movie known to man, from black and white 30’s classics to 80’s action films to Titanic special edition. The Colombian can’t help but smile as he looks them over, tilting his head sideways to read the labels. They’re generally arranged alphabetically, but the system isn’t perfect. James chuckles, wondering if Cristiano realizes something in his life has been left askew.

He reads the titles aloud, “Superbad. Supergirl. Superman.” None of those sound especially appealing. Then he sees it, tucked between Superbabies: Baby Geniuses 2 and Super Mario Bros. There, in neat handwritten letters is a DVD case labeled Super Bowl 2010.

James furrows his brow, not sure that he believes his own eyes. Why in the world would Cristiano Ronaldo own a DVD of the 2010 Super Bowl? No, really. Why? A moment later James recalls all the hushed laughter associated with the Super Bowl party and decides there’s no time like the present to actually view the game and perhaps jog Cristiano’s memory a bit. Maybe that would get him talking and serve as an in. James smiles to himself as he pops the DVD into the player and settles down on the sofa again, remote in hand.

The first thing on screen is the blurry side of someone’s face. There’s loud noise, laughter, and suddenly the picture comes into focus. It’s Cristiano, head tilted back in laughter, sitting on someone’s expensive looking leather couch. Seconds later, Marcelo pops up behind him, grinning madly. The two have a rapid exchange in their native tongue before whoever is holding the camera scolds, “In Spanish, gentlemen. Share with the class!”

James doesn’t recognize the voice.

On screen, Marcelo and Cris share a quick look, then laugh again and the cameraman pans the rest of the room. The wall mounted television is indeed playing the American football game, and standing around are a dozen or so familiar faces (some more so than others) chatting and drinking bottled beers. James’ eyes light up as he watches them, gasping at the sight of his teammates, five years removed. They look so young, some of them. He notes Iker sitting on one of the sofas, Sergio seated beside him. On the other side of Sergio is Gonzalo. They both appear to be the only ones actually watching the game. James’ focus stays mostly on Cristiano in the background, though the cameraman has his attention elsewhere.

“Álvarito!” The voice calls out as the cameraman turns around to zoom in on Arbeloa, leaned against a wall as he chats with Xabi. Arbeloa looks over at the camera. It’s zoomed in on his nose all the way. “Say hello to the camera, Álvaro!”

“Knock it off, Raúl,” he says, voice far more gentle and forgiving than James has ever heard it before. From his spot on the sofa, his eyebrows raise. Wait a second. Raúl. As in _Raúl_ -Raúl?! No, no… can’t be! No way. _The_ Raúl wouldn’t be the one ineptly operating the camcorder, zooming in and out on Arbeloa’s face while ignoring the interesting stuff at the party. Besides, James would know Raúl’s voice anywhere, and that voice certainly doesn’t sound like Raúl. It takes him a moment, then he realizes who must be behind the camera. Raúl Albiol. Well, damn.

“We’ve brought more nachos,” a voice calls above the chatter. Raúl spins around quickly and the camera settles on Kaká, smiling brightly with a tray of nachos in hand. Esteban appears behind him holding another tray. “I hope everyone is hungry still!”

The men all clap and clamor over to the food, Albiol with his camera in hand to document the feeding process. There’s a general feeling of joy in the room as they partake in the food. It looks like a marvelous time and James is instantly a little bit jealous that he’s missed it. Of course, the dynamics are all different now and he adores the sense of family that’s been built with the club now, but seeing how things used to be makes him itch a little. He wishes he’d been there, silly as it seems.

Albiol’s camera work is jarringly awful. He spends far too much time focused on Arbeloa or on the TV screen or on nachos being shoved into people’s mouths. It’s a little ridiculous and James begins to get frustrated. He wants to see Cris. Even the briefest glimpse will do. Then, as if reading his mind through time and technology, the camera turns to the Portuguese. He looks good. Younger, sure, but just as handsome as ever. James’ heart skips a beat as he watches Cristiano happy and smiling.

And then it happens. It’s so quick he almost wants to rewind the DVD and watch it again. There, in an instant, Cristiano leans in to kiss one of his teammates, right square on the mouth, right in front of everyone. He’s not on the pitch, overcome by emotions after scoring a goal. He’s on a couch in someone’s living room, leaning in to kiss another man. It takes another second for James to register that that man is Kaká.

James is utterly scandalized. On the TV screen, no one reacts to it at all.

On screen, the two men exchange a look, then they smile. From behind the camera, Albiol lets out an obnoxiously loud laugh. “Keep it in your pants, lovebirds!”

To that, Kaká shoots the camera a look which somehow both intimidating and affectionate. It is truly a talent. He presses a finger to his lips to shush Albiol, who only laughs again.

“Has anyone seen our host?” It’s Karim’s voice. James recognizes it. The general consensus is no, their host has been gone for about twenty minutes. James wonders briefly who the host even is. Pipita then muses, from his spot beside Sergio. “I wonder where Raúl is. He’s been gone awhile too.”

On the television, The Who are on stage at the halftime show and there’s silence in the room. It’s awkward, like no one dares speak a word. James leans forward in his seat, waiting for something to happen. He’s justly rewarded when Sergio yelps, “Oh my god I bet they’re—” He’s cut off by Iker’s hand held firmly over his mouth.

Across the room, an understanding registers with about half of the occupants. The others look confused, or even a little dismayed.

“No…” Xabi says, shaking his head. “They wouldn’t. Not right now. Not with all of us here.”

“Oh yes they would,” Sergio insists, rising from his seat. Iker grabs his wrist to tug him back down.

“Leave it alone,” the keeper warns. “They’re allowed some privacy, dammit. Besides, they’re probably just talking.”

The rest of the men seem to heed him, agreeing to leave well enough alone as they resume watching the halftime show. No one seems to have noticed when Albiol sneaks away, camera still recording as he silently wanders up the stairs of the mansion.

It’s as if he’s giving a tour of the place, opening every door, checking each room, flicking on the lights as he looks around. He clearly has no idea where he’s going, entering rooms at random, but he seems gleeful in his adventure. In the distance, the strains of the halftime show echo up the walls. James feels a little sick from how the camera shakes around, but he has to admit, he’s enjoying the show. He’s still a bit confused over Cristiano and Kaká’s public display of affection, but Albiol’s quest now has him intrigued. He’s not really looking for Raúl, is he?

Apparently, he is. Albiol reaches the final door, then fumbles as he turns the camera on himself. He’s smiling, positively beaming as he hisses, “I think I found them!” Then, with a devilish giggle, he gets the camera ready and turns the door knob.

And that’s when all hell breaks loose.

He’s opened the door to the master bedroom. All the lights are on, everything is clear and in focus straight ahead. And what’s ahead of him is a sight James never imagined in his wildest dreams. It’s Raúl, laid on his belly across the foot of the king sized bed, completely bare-assed naked. And standing before him, also entirely undressed, stands Guti, head rolled back in pleasure as his dick is almost all the way down Raúl’s throat.

Guti turns his head to look at the intruder, blue eyes flashing like storm clouds. James just about chokes on his own saliva.

“Holy sweet potatoes!” The younger Raúl cries. The older Raúl _gags_. “Fuck! Oh my God! I’m so sorry! I— ”

“Jesus Christ!” Guti screams, pushing away from Raúl. “Didn’t anyone teach you to knock? You stupid fuck!”

Albiol lets out a panicked wail. “I’m sorry!” Yet he still continues filming.

From the bed, Raúl is sending Albiol a warning look, the look of supreme authority. It’s the look of a _captain_ , enough to make even the tallest man shrink a little. “What are you doing?” He’s mostly calm, it would seem. James isn’t sure how he’s managing, because he’s sure he would have lost it.

“I was just looking for you!”

“Well you found us! Dumb fuck!” Guti looks as if he might pounce on Albiol and choke him out. His demeanor completely changes though when Raúl reaches out to place a hand on his thigh.

“Chema,” he says, voice steady, almost cold. Guti halts, looking down at him. Raúl commands him with a single word. “Relax.”

“But— ”

Raúl silently tilts his head, just slightly, and Guti seems to melt completely as they look into each other’s eyes. James (and Albiol before him) can barely believe his eyes. What on earth… “Relax,” Raúl says again, taking the blond’s hand, squeezing it, then kissing his knuckles. “It’s okay. He can stay. He can watch.”

The look in the blond’s eyes goes from murderous to downright evil. But not the evil kind of evil, the _good_ kind of evil. He looks like a kid in a candy store, left all alone without any supervision. His whole face lights up as he watches Raúl for any sign that he’s changed his mind, and when Raúl nods again, Guti finally looks back to Albiol, motioning with his free hand for the kid to come closer. “Shut the door and get over here. _Now_.” Albiol complies. James inhales sharply. “Stand over here. This is my good side.”

Raúl snorts from his spot on the bed, then rolls onto his back. Albiol’s hands are shaking as he focuses in on his namesake’s face. His skin seems so radiant, bronzed and with a sheen of sweat on his brow, dark eyes somehow warm and dangerous and calm all at once. He’s still watching Guti, who moves around the foot of the bed. He pauses off camera for a moment, then returns, tossing a little bottle onto the bed beside Raúl. The camera pans out, and it’s only then that James realizes what Albiol is about to record.

“Oh my God,” the Colombian whispers breathlessly, hand covering his mouth as he watches Guti pour a small bit of lube into his hand, then press one of his long fingers into Raúl. On the television, Albiol utters the exact same thing.

“You wanna watch me fuck him?” Guti leers at the camera as Raúl lets out a needy moan. “You wanna watch me do it? Are you jealous?”

If James has to admit it, he’s pretty insanely turned on by the scene. He never in his wildest dreams imagined he’d watch something like this, but damn, is it maddeningly hot.

On screen, Raúl’s back arches as Guti presses a second finger into him. Albiol gasps from behind the camera. The blond grins, then looks to Raúl reverently.

“Oh, baby. Look at you. You’re just as perfect now… God, if you could only see…” Raúl manages to smile up at him as he rocks his hips against Guti’s hand. “That’s right. Fuck my fingers, baby. That’s good.”

“Fuck…” Albiol murmurs.

Guti continues preparing Raúl, reaching for the small bottle of lubricant to slick himself up. He climbs over his lover, aligning their hips as he presses the head of his cock against Raúl’s entrance. Using one hand, he guides himself in, both men groaning from the sensation. Raúl’s face flushes slightly. He looks positively sinful, spreading his legs and opening himself up for Guti. And Guti? He looks like a sun god, golden and glorious, easing slowly in and out of Raúl, rolling their hips together slowly. His expression is soft, nothing but light and warmth as he finds a steady pace and leans in to press their mouths together in a kiss.

“Oh God,” he says, voice aching. “God, baby. You’re so…”

Raúl rolls his head back and laughs. It’s nothing malicious, in fact it might be the most loving sound James has ever heard. “My Chema,” he says, and he smiles, submitting to Guti and _only_ to Guti. The significance is not lost on James at all.

Guti’s smile turns wicked again as he changes positions slightly, burying his face into the crook of Raúl’s neck while he increases his pace. On cue, Albiol moves, adjusting the camera angle so that there’s a very clear and very graphic shot of Guti’s dick pumping in and out of Raúl’s ass.

Guti mumbles adorations to Raúl as Albiol records on. “I love you, I love you. I’ve always loved you. I need you. I worship you. My love, my love, my love.” James feels like he’s invading their lives somehow, listening to those words. So intimate, so personal. So not meant for his eyes or ears. But he can’t look away. Not when it’s right there, not when Guti turns his head to flash a superior smile right at the camera.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Albiol says again, and James has to concur. He finally notices that he’s sporting an obvious erection, but he can’t bring himself to turn off the DVD or look away.

The older men are both panting, groaning, Raúl speaking softly, whispering encouragingly in Guti’s ear, so indistinct that the microphone can’t pick it all up. Guti lets out a growl, turning back to look over his shoulder again at Albiol and the camera. “First time I fucked him, he was fifteen. Seventeen years he’s been mine. Did you know that?”

Albiol says nothing. He just pans out slightly. James drops the remote to the floor.

“And he’s just as perfect now as he was then. Look at him,” Guti barks. The cameraman obeys and moves up their bodies, focuses back on Raúl’s face. He’s staring at Guti, reaching up to tangle his fingers in his blond hair. The older man smiles down at him, then starts fucking him quicker again. “He’s just as beautiful. He’s just as tight. Yeah, you are. _Fuck_. He’s just as fucking amazing. No, no wait. Baby, you’re even better. And you’re all mine.”

Raúl laughs again, even as sweat drips down his lover’s cheek and hits his face. “Always, love. Always yours. Now fuck me like you’re mine.” The breath audibly hitches in Guti’s throat, and James unknowingly echoes the sound, watching in rapt attention as Guti moves faster, slamming his hips against Raúl, fucking him harder, harder, harder, as Raúl lets out a low, throaty moan. Albiol adjusts the lens, focuses on Raúl’s cock, hard and dripping with precum. He reaches down to stroke himself, lips parted in delirious agony as Guti thrusts into him.

Without thinking, James slips his hand down past the waistband of his jeans. He reaches for his own cock, groping himself desperately in time with Raúl. The Colombian watches, stroking himself quickly as Guti’s hips move, pumping deeper and deeper into Raúl, as the captain brings himself to climax, coming in waves all over his belly and chest. He cries as he does, and James cries out too, orgasm just about blindsiding him as he comes in his jeans. On the TV, he hears Guti’s sharp groan of ecstasy. James can’t see anything really, he’s dizzy from his orgasm, he can only hear what’s happening on screen— the sound of heavy breathing, of sighing, of kissing, _so much_ kissing. And then he hears something else. James hears footsteps.

“What the hell are you—?”

James snaps back to reality, turning around to see Cristiano gaping at him, cellphone still in hand. “I— _uh _…”__

“Where did you find this?” Cristiano stammers, voice high with panic. “And what the hell were you doing?”

The Colombian flushes, knowing it must be extremely obvious what he’s just done. Instead of explaining that though, he helplessly points to the DVD shelf. “It was with the other films. I thought it was going to be the Super Bowl.”

Cristiano blanches. “Well clearly it _isn’t_!”

“I know that now,” James offers dumbly. Cristiano purses his lips into a thin line. James watches, wide-eyed and panicked. “How did you get this? Why do you have this?”

“That doesn’t matter.” He waves a hand.

“Yes it does. Why do you have this video, Cristiano?” The younger man’s brows furrow. He blatantly ignores the additional words of love exchanged between Guti and Raúl on the TV.

Cristiano swallows hard and glances briefly at the television, walking over to turn it off. He crosses his arms. “Ricky gave it to me.”

“Ricky?” James blinks. He feels his heart sink a little. “Wait. As in Kaká?”

The older man nods, oblivious to the sadness creeping into James’ heart. “Raúl,” he pauses, “ _Albiol_ gave it to him, for safe keeping. He figured Ricky would be the one least likely to do something stupid with it. And when he left…” Cristiano trailed off, shrugging, as if the conclusion were obvious.

“Were you two…?”

Cristiano’s perfect feature twist into a frown. “Were we what?”

James swallows. “Were you and Kaká dating? Or something? Because— ”

“That isn’t really your business.” Cristiano’s voice is cold and James feels scolded, like a child. Noting this, the older man pauses, shakes his head. “That’s not what I meant. I meant to say that I had a whole life before I met you, James. I was somebody else. Ricky was important to me. He still is. But that’s all over now. He and I were… very close. But he left. And I’m right here. You understand?”

James watches the other man, really studies him, then nods slowly. He can’t judge Cristiano for the past, for existing in a pre-James world. That isn’t fair. And besides, there are worse lost loves to have than Kaká. So James nods, then he tries to carry on. “So when he left he gave it to you. Because he trusted you to take care of it.”

“That’s right. So I put it on my shelf where no one would think to look for it.”

“Between DVD copies of Superbabies: Baby Geniuses 2 and Super Mario Bros.” It was a clever plan, really. Cristiano smiles. James still looks confused. “But why not destroy it? Or erase it? My God, Cris, it’s a total invasion of their privacy, having this around.”

Cris scoffed. “You watched it, didn’t you? Is that not the hottest thing you’ve ever seen?” He smirks. “Besides me, of course. It would be a shame to erase something so glorious.”

James does think Cristiano is hot, but he’s still uneasy . “I think it’s a little weird keeping a sex tape of your old captains around, that’s all.”

“Perhaps,” the older man allowed.

“Do they know you have it?” James asks. Cristiano shakes his head. “Then you should probably erase it. It’s the right thing to do.”

Cristiano looks at him, looks him over, as if he really has to think on it. But James knows him, knows that at his core he is a good person and that he’s already made up his mind to do the right thing. So it’s easy to smile when Cristiano goes to the DVD player, ejects the disc, then snaps it in two. “There we go. Done and done.”

“I’m glad,” the younger man says, standing up. It’s only then that he remembers coming in his pants not ten minutes before. “Um, Cris…”

Cristiano eyes the damp spot in his jeans, then gives a wicked smile. “Yes, James?”

“Could I maybe borrow a pair of—” Before he can finish, Cris has a finger in his belt loop and is gently pulling him toward the hallway which leads to his bedroom. James feels himself beginning to blush.

“No use putting on some clean pants now,” the older man teases. “I’m just going to undress you again anyways.”

 

***

 

Later, after they’ve had their fun and are eating plain pasta at the kitchen table, James decides to ask one more question.

“So, about the Super Bowl party…” He raises an eyebrow, watching Cristiano’s expression.

“What about it?” He asks, spooning some noodles into his mouth.

“Everyone talks about it like it was this big, hilarious thing. Was it Raúl and Guti? Is that what everyone laughs about?”

Cristiano laughs then, shaking his head. “Ha, no. It’s got nothing to do with them. In fact, aside from me and Ricky and Albiol, and _probably_ Arbeloa, I doubt anyone else ever had a clue about that tape.”

“Really?” James says, looking confused. “Then what was the big joke?”

“It was Iker.”

“ _Iker_?” James’ nose crinkles. “What happened? What did he do?”

Cristiano rolls his eyes. “He got so drunk, he tripped over the coffee table and spilled an entire plate of guacamole on himself, and before he could get up off the floor Guti’s dog came in and started humping his leg so violently it threw up on him.”

The younger man just stares at him, utterly dumbstruck. “I… wow.”

The Portuguese laughs then, reaching over to pat James’ cheek. “Listen, you had to be there. Trust me on this.”

“Whatever you say, Cris.” James says, looking at the older man adoringly. Maybe he did have to be there to understand why it's so funny, why that memory stands out for them above all others. But they have new memories to make, with this new team and new set of friends. And maybe in February they’ll have a Super Bowl party all their own.

**Author's Note:**

> Written because fenerkulesi wanted something inspired by this: http://40.media.tumblr.com/aac1556fa2000b34dc7b58898bd05eea/tumblr_nrxtvor1AM1qesncyo6_500.png
> 
> And also because it's pimpam's birthday this weekend! Happy birthday, love!


End file.
